A Love Story
by She's a Star
Summary: 'He loved her, and he was finally whole. She loved him, and she was torn apart.'


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A Love Story 

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by She's a Star

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Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge isn't mine.

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Author's Note: This is for Twixxa, whose birthday is March 22. Hope you have a fabulous b-day, m'dear. :-)

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It wasn't meant to be.

They knew.

It was an err of fate, something that was never supposed to happen and still did, amidst storm clouds and flickering stars that lost their sparkle while diamonds continued on. It was wrong, filled with stolen kisses and guilt that shouldn't have consumed them.

It was pure, in a world where innocence was sin.

He did not understand, not truly, and he never would. He was sweet, and kind, with soft stormy eyes and inkstained fingertips. In his world, there were soulmates and roses and secret smiles; love songs that drifted through air softly scented of lavender and rain.

She was crimson, in every sense; lipstick kisses and short, rounded fingernails and satin dresses that clung to every curve. She was darkness, Satan's paramour, a seductress who painted love and slowly sold her soul away in exchange for worthless riches. Sometimes, she cried, and hated herself for it, because she knew it was just until tomorrow, just one more day, and then she could be free of this hell where she'd been caged for so long. Her smiles were always beautiful, but so cold; never genuine until she met him.

His eyes were wide, his mind overcome with wonder by this strange new world that sold fantasies and stole away souls. 

She descended from darkness, a goddess draped in artificial midnight and aching, yearning so terribly to get away, but still smiling, still requesting diamonds that she didn't want anymore.

He was willing, beautiful; one note and they danced on clouds and stars serenaded them and felicity seemed in its strangest, purest state, and perfection had finally found her in this place where she would surely be destroyed.

He loved her, and he was finally whole.

She loved him, and she was torn apart.

She smiled more, giggled sometimes as he took her hands in his own and spun her around, so fast, until all she saw was him and everything else faded away into a vaguely colored blur that didn't matter so much anymore. At night, he would kiss her, gently, and wipe away scars from past-fallen teardrops that he somehow sensed, because he knew her.

No one had ever known her before.

And slowly, her dreams shifted and changed, and she didn't want to see her name in lights as much as she wanted to hear it spilled, lovingly, from his lips in a soft, sweet whisper. She wanted him, and only him, and she knew that it would ruin her, but somehow hope awakened within darkness and she wondered if perhaps her wings hadn't been clipped after all.

And then cold reality sunk its teeth into her pale flesh, drawing blood and laughing softly as it spilled across the bare mahogany floor.

_'You should have known,'_ Death whispered, smiling, caressing this pretty new treasure that would soon be his.

She cried, and didn't hate herself for doing it now because she knew that her love cried for her as well, and maybe they'd be bound forever to one another, drowning in tears and memories that seemed like now when she closed her eyes and wished.

She fell apart, slowly, remembering his face and his voice and the day when they'd kissed in the sunlight and silently known _forever_.

_'Please,'_ she'd begged, _'Don't leave me.'_

And he'd said he wouldn't.

Night came, swallowed her, took her; Death whispered threats as he fingered her curls, laughing delightedly to himself because she was such a silly little thing, thinking that she could escape him in favor of a light she'd never truly possessed.

And then he returned, and she cried inwardly for him because he was so dark; malice shone in his eyes and she knew that she'd ruined him. He'd thanked her for the pain that had consumed his heart, assured her with clumsy, broken words that he no longer believed in love.

She'd wept openly then, wondering why and knowing all at once that she had brought it on herself, that she'd never been worthy, that she was a foolish little girl who had always dreamed for impossible bliss.

But then he sang to her, softly, and she knew that he hadn't meant it, and wrapped in his embrace, they stayed as the bruised sky rained rose petals. He kissed her, one last time, promising her his words that she knew would spill from the noisy 'clang - clang - clang' of stiff typewriter keys.

Someday.


End file.
